All Things Considered
by imbloodycrowley
Summary: A series of one-shots involving John, Sammy, and Dean. ****Strong themes of corporal punishment and abusive John**** Strong language will probably be used in some chapters. Reader discretion advised.
1. Chapter 1

**********Disclaimer: These stories will have strong themes of corporal punishment, and are really whatever story pops into my messed-up mind. John is borderline abusive/abusive in these stories. These won't really have anything to do with one another usually- so probably one-shots for the most part. Please no telling me that John was a great father or blah blah- sorry, I respect your opinion. But... This is the way I see it. Also, for the record, I am not an advocate of corporal punishment in any situation, except that of two consenting individuals. You know... In the kinky way ;)**

**Anyways, please review... and yes I'm a terrible person for putting Dean (and probably Sammy sometime?) through this.**

**Viewer (reader?) discretion is advised.**

_This particular story takes place while Sammy is away at Stanford, and is the rare occasion when John has non-hunter guests over. Some old friends he and Mary had back before she died. _

Dean let out a laugh, taking a sip of his beer. He sat listening to the story a middle-aged couple- Ted and Jamie- was telling, thoroughly entertained. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have guests over. It was nice.

He hadn't really spoken most of the evening- John had given him a good talking-to before these people had come over. _"These people don't know that monsters exist, Dean. And it's gonna stay that way."_

_"Yes, sir." _Had been the automatic response. He never questioned John's orders. He never had, and he most definitely didn't plan on starting now.

John was kicked back on the opposite side of the couch, just finishing his fifth beer. Dean, of course, pretended not to notice how much his father had been drinking- he was trying to just enjoy the night with these nice people. Just as Ted finished one of his stories, Dean finally went to speak. "Man, I remember this time, me and Dad were hunting this werewolf-" No sooner had the words slipped out of his mouth that he realized his mistake. He hadn't meant to say it, he **hadn't**. Everyone had been telling stories, and hunting ones were the only ones he had. His eyes darted straight to his father, who had a look on his face irritated enough to terrify Dean. "I'm sorry." Dean all but choked out, pressing further against the couch. "Dad, I'm sorry."

Jamie cast her gaze from John, to Dean, and then back to John. What the hell was happening?_ Did he say werewolf? Surely not. Why does he look so scared all of a sudden?_

"Get up." The words were growled more so than spoken, and Ted watched as John rose up off the couch, setting his beer on the coffee table.

Dean scrambled to obey, setting his own beer so fast that he managed to knock it and a couple of other empty bottles over, managing only to infuriate John further. "Dad, I'm sorry." The words were spoken again, coming from the grown man who now looked to be nothing more than a terrified five-year-old.

Jamie turned to glance back at John, who did nothing more than gesture to the wall on the opposite side of the room. "Now." He snarled.

She swore could see the life in Dean's eyes die right then and there, any trace of that charming smile he had earlier, vanished. The twenty-five year old practically stumbled over the couple's legs, trying to make his way over to the place his father was pointing, muttering a few 'Sorry's, and 'yes, sir's on his way. As he walked, he began untucking his shirt, slipping it off and tossing it aside in a practiced manner before stopping right in front of the wall, pressing his hands to it and adjusting his legs to spread them apart, allowing him more support and a better stance.

Very confused with what was even happening, Jamie glanced to John who, to her horror, slid off his belt as he marched over to the boy. "My god, John, no!" She cried, starting to get up. She didn't even understand what Dean had done- and why her friend was acting as though he was going to hit his grown son with a belt- _in front of her and her husband_, no less.

Dean ducked his head to stare down at the floor, standing deathly still. He felt terrible. He had managed to screw up their nice evening- and now Dad was going to have to _correct_ him in front of their guests. Sure, John had belted him a few times with Bobby around. While his uncle was never happy about it, it was never a big deal. Because it was Bobby. These were people he had never met before- and if he had, it had been a _long_ time ago.

The room was completely silent besides the sound of his father pulling his belt loose from the loops as he approached his son. Dean did nothing more than tense as John folded the belt over, pressing it to his lower back and, without a single word, pulling his arm back and bringing the belt back down across his bared back.

Jamie sat in horrified silence with her hand over her mouth, not even sure how to react to the entire situation. Maybe the most alarming thing wasn't even that a twenty-five year old grown man was being beaten with a belt in front of her. Maybe it was the marks running over his shoulders and entire back, proving that this was most definitely not the first time this had happened.

Ted sat next to his wife, shocked into silence as well. He sat, half in his seat, half ready to jump up and go stop John. What was he doing? The man was laying into the poor boy- who, to his credit, had stood completely still and remained completely silent until about the eleventh stroke, at which point only a small grunt had emerged from the back of his throat. Nothing more, however. No protest, no pleading for his father to stop, no physical resistance- _nothing._

At one point, John had reached up and taken a fistful of Dean's hair, forcing his head up. "Eyes on the wall." he spoke quietly into Dean's ear, earning a whispered "Yes, sir." He followed up with three licks to Dean's shoulders for the minor infraction, working his way down his son's back again once he was satisfied.

At this point, they were nearing stroke twenty, and Dean's body was rocking just a bit every time the belt made contact. He tried his damndest to stay silent, but couldn't help a soft whimper of protest at a particularly hard stroke.

Jamie finally forced herself to get up at the gentle, heart-wrenching noises coming from the boy at this point, which only resulted in John striking harder.

"John." Jamie spoke rather sternly, grabbing the man's wrist right before the belt made contact with Dean's back once again. "John, _stop_. You stop that. The poor boy didn't do a damn thing, and you're beating him like he's some animal." She reached to place a soothing hand on Dean's back, only to have him flinch violently at the touch before he stilled himself, forcing his back to press towards her hand, anticipating further punishment.

"What the hell have you done to him, John? He was such a sweet, wild little boy." The woman whispered, doing her best to push John away from Dean. As soon as John went to protest, Ted was right there, putting himself between John and the other two. "C'mon, John. Why don't we get you outside so you can cool off?" He suggested, giving John no time to answer before escorting him towards the door.

There was a long few minutes of Jamie and Dean standing in silence, the boy never breaking stance. She ran her hand up and down his back, doing her best to rub the sting out without injuring him further. "Why did he do that to you, honey? Why did you let him?"

Dean lifted his head just a bit, frozen where he was. He didn't want to get himself in more trouble, and Dad hadn't said that they were through yet. He turned his head the slightest bit to glance at Jamie out of the corner of his eye, unsure of what to do.

"Oh- sweetie, you can move, my god. I'm so sorry, I didn't even think to tell you. Go ahead." She cooed, practically forcing his hands off the wall when he still didn't move, doing the best she could to pull him into her arms in order to soothe him. "What has he done to you?"

Dean turned his face just a bit, very reluctantly returning the hug, all but burying his face against her neck. He was sure he wasn't supposed to be getting this sort of comfort- he was in trouble. He couldn't bring himself to pull away, however. It felt too good, too gentle. Though, after a moment, he forced himself to slowly break free of the hug, averting his gaze before the woman was able to meet his eyes. "'M sorry, ma'am." Was all he had to say. _I'm sorry I mentioned a monster in front of you, it just came out. I'm sorry I made noises while Dad was correcting me, I didn't mean to cause a scene. I'm sorry it had to happen while you were here, I wasn't trying to make trouble. I was enjoying listening to the stories you were telling._

"How long has this been going on?" Jamie asked gently, leaning down to retrieve John's discarded belt, never imagining the reaction it would bring about. She watched the young man's face pale just a bit, and the hurt look he gave her only lasted a moment before he turned to press his hands back to the wall, beginning to ready himself once again.

"No- oh-my god, no. I wasn't going to-" Jamie dropped the belt at the realization, reaching over to touch Dean's shoulder, only to have him shy away like the soft touch was a snake bite. "Honey, that's done with. It's over, it's all over. I would _never- _oh, honey."

Dean slowly glanced back at her, his face showing nothing less than utter disbelief. He wasn't sure what was going on, or why this strange woman was being so nice to him. "'M sorry." He repeated, allowing her to pull him away from the wall and into her arms once more. "'M sorry, ma'am."


	2. Chapter 2

**AU where John takes Dean up to Stanford and drags Sam back home with them. Sammy isn't happy about it, but he's about to find out just how bad it's gotten since he's been gone. This one has a bit more vunerable!Dean. Reviews are greatly appreciated!**

Dean was silent in the passenger's seat of the impala, occasionally nervously glancing towards the back seat at Sam, and then to his father, and then back to his folded hands in his lap again.

Sam watched his brother quietly; they had all been sitting in uncomfortable silence for almost two hours now, after John had screamed at Sam in front of his brother and practically shoved him into the car. He didn't know if he should say anything now, or if that would only make his father angrier.

There was utter silence in the car- no noise whatsoever besides the purr of the impala's engine, and the gentle, nervous tapping of Dean's fingers against the doorframe to the passenger's side door. Sam didn't mind it. It was actually somewhat comforting. Right now Dad was scaring him, so the constant reminder that his brother was close was very reassuring.

Out of the blue, the impala screeched to a stop as John pulled it over to the side of the absent dirt road they were on, starting to get out. "I'm so goddamn done. Get out of the damn car, Dean."

Sam watched his brother's expression change in the rear view mirror, a sudden look of familiar dread passing over his face as he went to obey orders instantly, climbing out of the car clumsily.

Instant curiosity struck Sam as he went to get out of the car as well, closing the door behind himself as he watched curiously. They both seemed to be following some sort of unspoken routine, but _he_ had no idea what was going on.

He watched as John rummaged around in the trunk of the impala, his expression cold and hard as stone. As Sam turned to his brother, he only grew even more confused. Dean's shirt was folded neatly on the hood of the impala, and his brother stood with his arms folded atop the impala's roof, his body pressed rigidly against the car's side. Sam studied the way Dean's body was tensed, how he rested his chin on his folded arm, how his eyes stayed cast down all this time. But the thing he noticed most were the mixed lash marks across his brother's back. Some looked old, some looked newer. They started at Dean's shoulders and went down as far as Dean's jeans would allow Sam to see, and beyond that as well, he was sure.

"I'm so frustrated already, Dean." John muttered from where he stood, still at the trunk of the impala, staring down at something that Sam couldn't see. "And you have to sit there making your damn noises and make the damn car ride unbearable."

Sam was having trouble comprehending any of this. Dean had been drumming his fingers... Dad hadn't warned him- hadn't ordered him to stop. Not once. Why was he making such a big deal out of this?

He could see Dean peek out of the corner of his eye, straining to see Dad's hands. What was he even holding? Sam slowly moved closer in order to see what his father held, only to be horrified. Along with the thin switch Sam could see in his father's hand, he could also spot a thick leather strap, a plastic hanger, a yard stick, a riding crop, and a belt.

He had no time to even begin to imagine what John used these for before his father prepared to demonstrate. He walked over to Dean in silence, placing a hand on his back and pressing him closer against the impala. Sam watched the shudder go through Dean's shoulders, and how he shied away from his father's hand, his eyes squeezing shut tightly.

"Dad..." Sam started, only to be scolded by his father.

"You get no say in this, Sam. Keep your mouth shut unless you'd like to be the one over here teaching your brother a lesson. Do you think I _want_ to do this? This has been an ongoing thing- which you obviously would know nothing of- and I am _so_ sick and tired of it. He has to be taught."

"No!" Sam snapped, causing his brother to flinch visibly, closing his eyes tighter. "No, you're doing it because you want something to get your damn frustration out on! He did nothing wrong, dad! You can't be serious right now! Dean, come over here. You don't have to take that from him!"

Dean knew better than to defy his father. He stayed where he was, only moving his feet a bit to get a better stance.

John turned away from Sam, fuming. After doing a few placement taps in different spots on his son's back, he brought the switch down with a _snap_.

Dean ground his teeth together as he rose up onto his toes, his eyes screwing shut once again and his face contorting into a pained expression. The pained noise, however, came not from Dean, but from Sam. Horrified, he choked out a cry of disbelief, stumbling over to begin attempting to force his father away from Dean. "Dad!"

John gave Sam a good shove to clear him out of the way, starting with the placement taps on his son's back once again.

Dean flinched at every light tap, anticipating another strike with the switch. He stayed as still as he could manage, however, wanting nothing more than to please his father with his obedience.

When John brought down the second lick, Dean ducked his head to bite down on his arm, wishing to god that he had asked for something else to bite down on beforehand. He stayed as still as he could as the third and fourth stripes were laid down across his back, resolving to bury his face against his arm completely. He could hear Sam yelling at Dad again, and the whipping stopped for a moment while they fought some more. He didn't mind so much, it was nice to be able to breathe for a second. Just as he lifted his head from his arm, however, a sharp sting was laid across his side, causing him to shy the other way harshly, a surprised cry escaping his throat. He turned, and the betrayed look on his face nearly broke Sam. Dean's eyes flickered back to the switch in his father's hand for a moment before he looked at John's face, waiting to be scolded, or given an order, or to be hit again.

"Dean, go grab something different from the trunk." John muttered, holding out the switch for Dean to take, causing his son to flinch violently.

Dean quickly pulled himself together, however, obediently taking the switch and going to the trunk of the impala to set the switch down, retrieving the leather belt and folding it over in his hands as he walked back over to his father, holding it out expectantly.

Sam watched in utter disgust as John took the belt, inspecting it, like he was deciding whether or not it would suffice to hit his son with. After a moment of turning the belt over again and again in his hands, he seemingly decided it would work, because he gestured for Dean to return to his position.

Sam watched as Dean turned without any trace of defiance or hesitation, only full willingness to obey. His brother placed his hands atop the impala, squaring his shoulders and spreading his feet once again, planting them in place, determined to please John with his compliance.

He didn't miss the way his brother pressed further against the impala when John placed the belt on his back, didn't miss the way his brother's body tensed knowingly.

When John did a placement tap, Dean almost jumped out of his skin, anticipating the pain. Sam swore he was ready to murder his father right then and there. He watched as John laid down the first blow, not holding back even a little.

Dean reached back as his mouth fell open in a silent cry, his entire face contorting into a pained expression that nearly broke Sam's heart right then and there. He caught his brother's eyes for a split second before his brother was turning again, putting himself back in position without so much as having to be told to do so. Something snapped in Sam, however. He reached over, yanking the implement from his father with a growl, holding his opposite hand out. "Dean, c'mere."

Dean peeked over his shoulder, and when his father didn't protest Sam's command, he turned to do so, his head ducked as he cowered, slowly walking towards his brother, eyeing the belt his brother now held. He stopped once he stood right in front of Sam, his gaze still wandering to the belt again and again.

"C'mere." Sam repeated, gesturing for Dean to come even closer, and his brother was suddenly right up against him, hugging him and all but burying his face against his chest, making barely-there gentle noises, ones Sam could barely tell if they were of relief or fear. He wasn't sure if his brother was trying to thank him or beg him not to let him be hurt again. Either way, Sam didn't plan on letting his big brother be hurt any more than he already was.

Dean nuzzled against Sam for another minute before he heard his father bark an order, something about 'standing up like a man and letting Sammy finish this up.'

He pulled away from his brother at the words, reaching up to place both hands atop his head in order to allow Sam full access to wherever he saw fit to whip his brother. It was always uncomfortable when Dad whipped the belt around his sides. He could never sleep right, and it always hurt to put his shirt on, even more so than usual.

He glanced up at his baby brother, waiting for the order to turn around, or to 'stay put, Soldier', or to be told that if he broke stance they'd have to start over, or some other command. All he got, however, was a near-tears look from Sam as his brother glanced down at the belt, tossing it aside. "Dean, I'm not gonna hit you. I can't hit you, I'm not- nobody's gonna hit you anymore."

Dean turned to his father immediately at Sam's statement, hoping desperately for confirmation. The disapproving look John gave him, however, told him that his father didn't think he'd been properly taught his lesson, yet.

"You're not touching him again." Sam suddenly spoke up. "Dad, I swear to god if you touch him again I'll beat you until you can't speak anymore. I swear it." He suddenly had his arms around his big brother protectively, pulling him in against his chest once again, using one hand to start stroking at Dean's hair comfortingly. "You're done. You're all done. You did so good. You did so good."

Dean glanced up at Sam in disbelief, doing his best to glance back at John, wanting the same sort of praise from his father. He wasn't used to being told that he'd done good, only when he'd done something wrong and was about to be corrected for it. When he got no such approval from his father, he glanced back at Sam, his eyes shining, begging for some more of the too-rare positive attention he was receiving.

The smile Sam received when he continued praising his brother was one of pure joy. Was this all it took to make Dean this happy? Was he really this deprived? "Dean, you took it like it was nothing. I would've been crying, y'know? You were so brave."

Dean was nodding all of a sudden, pulling free from his brother's arms, turning to go back over to the trunk of the impala, suddenly searching for another implement. "I can do it again, Sammy. Watch, you can watch and see how still I'll be. I've gotten so good at it. And you just- you tell me what to do and I obey. I'm good at that, too. And then you'll be prouda' me again, and you can tell me so. I like it when we do that. He fumbled with the strap he was grabbing, offering it out for his brother.

"No- my god, no. Dean- you don't have to- I don't have to whip you in order to tell you that you're good." Sam had to take in a shaky breath in order to compose himself, doing his best to fight back tears. "C'mere, big brother. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna tell you what a good, _good_ man you are."

Dean stepped closer, almost in disbelief, letting the strap fall back into the trunk, going to tuck against his little brother's chest again, the smile returning to his face. "I did a good job, Sammy. Didn't I?" He glanced up at his little brother for confirmation once more.

"Such a good job." Sam murmured, rubbing gently at Dean's back as he nodded reassuringly. "Dean, I'm so proud of you."


	3. Chapter 3

**For the time gap between the last two scenarios, that is when Sammy would've been at Stanford. Please review if you read this, you have no idea how much it'll mean to me + it makes me wanna get more chapters up quicker.**

A one-year-old Sammy sits, crying as he watches his five-year-old brother bent over the side of the bed, being spanked by their Daddy with a belt, over and over. He's barely able to comprehend what's going on at this age, but Dean's crying, and that makes him cry. And it makes him scared of their Daddy.

A three-year-old Sammy sits, crying on the bed, holding his brother's hands as Daddy spanks a seven-year-old Dean with a belt. Dean wasn't supposed to touch Dad's special drink, and he hadn't. Sammy had, though. The curious toddler had picked up the drink, quickly dropping it as he squealed about how cold the bottle felt. When Dad came back from the bathroom, Dean told him that he did it. Sammy didn't understand why his big brother lied, or why Dad got so angry, but he did. He cries because Dad yells, and now he's crying because Dean's crying. When his big brother reaches back to stop the whipping, Dad just pins his arm down and continues, yelling over and over about how Dean never obeys his orders. That night, when they lay in bed, Sammy whispers to Dean, long after Dad has passed out drunk. "Dean, when I get big, I'm gonna beat him up like he does to you. I'll be so big, even bigger than Dad. And he'll never, never hurt you again."

His brother smiles, pressing a kiss to little Sammy's forehead. "Sammy, you don't worry about it. It's my job to protect you, okay?"

And Sam accepts that for now, because he knows he's safe as long as Dean's around.

A five-year-old Sammy sits, crying as Dad tells Dean to go and find something to be spanked with, because he's misplaced his belt. He cries as his brother digs through their bags desperately, finally returning with a wooden brush. They shouldn't disobey orders, he knew that now. He didn't want his big brother getting hit for it, though. Daddy had told them to stop wrestling, it was time to sleep. They had been in the car for close to twelve hours- minus bathroom breaks, though. So as soon as Dad laid down for bed, they began wrestling again, as quietly as they could, making quiet grunting noises of effort. That was when the light had been switched back on, and Dad had come over, pulling their blanket off of them and yelling, again. Sammy watches as his big brother holds the brush out for Dad. He watches the way his brother knows to place his hands on the bed, his gaze set on the wall as he waits to take his punishment like a "good soldier" like Dad says. Sammy cries when Daddy spanks Dean. He places both his little hands atop his brother's, crying and crying. Crying for Dean, crying with Dean. Crying because he wants to stop it, but he can't. He cries long after him and his brother are back in bed, and he cries as his brother begs him to quiet down; "Dad's gonna get frustrated if you don't stop, Sammy." Dean whispers.

"One day, I'm gonna beat him up. If he tries to hurt you, I'll beat him up so bad, he won't be able to anymore." Little Sammy promises. "One day, I'll protect you like you do me."

An eight-year-old Sammy cries as his father drags a twelve-year-old Dean by his arm into the motel room, ordering him over the bed as soon as the door is closed. Dean was supposed to obey orders on the hunt. He was supposed to let Dad use Sammy as bait for the monster. When he realized what was happening, though; when he saw his little brother alone, searching desperately for him and Dad, he took off. He picked his little brother up hugged him close, shielding him with his own body, lest any monsters hurt his precious treasure.

Sammy cried as Dean went and placed his hands on the bed, finding someplace on the wall to fix his eyes. He ran over to his big brother, crawling onto the bed, starting to stand. "No, Daddy! No, no! No more hitting my brother!"

He screamed when Dad came and picked him up off the bed, setting him down to bend his youngest son over the bed as he unbuckled his belt with his free hand.

He cried because it was going to hurt. He cried because he hates Dad, and he cries because he's scared.

He waits to hear the sound of his Dad's belt hitting his jeans, but instead hears the sound of glass shattering as it hits the hard floor. He looks up as much as Dad's arm will allow to see his brother standing next to the broken bottle, staring at their father expectantly. Dad does just as Dean wanted him to and releases Sammy, going for his oldest son and not giving him the chance to lean over the bed this time before he wraps an arm around him, starting to beat him with his belt without thinking. Without hesitation, without remorse or even intent. He beats Dean until he's lost his grip, and his son is on the floor, shielding his head as he lays, sobbing, sobbing and begging for his father to please, please stop.

Sammy cries now, trying to pull his big brother into his arms. He cries that night when they're in bed, under the covers. "I promise." He whispers. "One day, when I'm big- bigger than Dad, I'll beat him up when he does it. I'll beat him up so bad, he'll be scared of me. I'll scare him like he does to us."

An eleven-year-old Sammy watches as his fifteen-year-old brother and Dad return from a hunt. He watches as Dean comes straight inside and takes his shirt off, going to place two hands against the wall, squaring his shoulders and adjusting the way he stands. He watches his Dad take off his belt, folding it over before he hikes his arm back, bringing it down full-force across Dean's back. He curls up under the desk and cries, he cries as he watches his father beat his favorite person in the world, because there's nothing he can do about it. Dad's told him that if he calls the police, they'll all go to jail, and he'll never see his big brother ever again, and that scares him more than anything. So he waits for Dad to finish up with Dean, and runs to be with his brother as soon as Dad leaves to "go get a drink."

He sits down next to his brother, who lays stomach-down on the bed, and softly runs his back for him. "Someday, Dean, someday, when I'm big, I'm gonna beat Dad up real bad. Like he does to you. I'll make him wish he'd never done any of this."

A fifteen-year-old Sammy watches as his father takes his nineteen-year-old brother by the back of the neck, guiding him to the side of the impala, barking a sharp order to "get into position, soldier." Sammy watches as his brother shrugs out of his jacket, and then slips off his shirt before placing his hands against the smooth metal of the car, waiting for his whipping. He watches as Dad goes and retrieves a branch from a tree because his belt "don't seem to be doing any good lately."

Sam watches the way his brother shies away from the feeling of the stick on his skin as soon as Dad places it against his back, warning his eldest to stay still. When Dad brings the branch down, Dean lets out a pained cry, something Sam hasn't heard him do in years. He watches as his brother breaks stance, reaching down to let lose his own belt, folding it over before offering it out to their father, all but begging to be beaten with it instead.

Sam sits, crying quietly as his father orders Dean to "stop being a bitch and take this like a man."

His brother assumes his position again before their father lays into his back, not hesitating anymore with the damned stick, going after not only Dean's back, but his sides as well this time.

Sam cries in the car when his father and brother get back in, he cries about the broken look on his brother's face, and he cries about how much he hates his father. That night, after Dad went "out" for the night, Sam followed his brother to bed, rubbing his back for him until he fell asleep.

"I promise, Dean." Sammy whispered. "Someday, when I'm bigger than Dad, I'm gonna beat him, like he does to you. I'll beat the hell out of him."

A twenty-two year old Sammy watches as his father takes his twenty-six year old brother by the arm, pulling him up from the couch Dean sat on after a snide comment he made about one of Dad's orders. "Hands on the wall, soldier, now. Into position." As his brother goes to obey, something snaps inside Sam. "No! No, you aren't gonna hit my brother!" He gave his father a good punch in the face before he lost it completely, beating and beating John, until all he could hear was his own heartbeat, and Dean's distant pleading for him to; "stop, stop it, Sammy."

Sam glances down at their unconscious, bloody father on the ground. How long had he beaten him for? It's not until he sees the gun in his hand to realize their father isn't unconscious; he's dead. And he's the one who's killed him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam sat on the old motel bed next to his sleeping brother, running a hand up and down his back, staring down at him quietly. What now? How was he going to fix this. Dad would. Dad would fix it, surely. They'd find some spell, or something. Dean would be fine. Sam jumped at the noise of the door slamming shut; he glanced in that direction to see his father hanging up his jacket. "Report on Dean, Sam."

Sam had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at the tone John's voice held. How could he be like that? His son had just been blinded.

"Sam, report!"

"He's been asleep, Dad. Hasn't moved, what the hell do you think he's been doing?"

John threw Sam a warning glare, going over to the fridge to retrieve a bottle of beer. "Sam, you do understand he still has to be punished, don't you? He disobeyed a direct order."

Sam felt like he was about to fall over. "_What_? Dad, you can't be-"

"I _said_ he disobeyed a direct order, Sam. Maybe you didn't hear me."

Sam jumped up from his place on the bed, his heart racing. "And being blinded isn't punishment enough?! Are you _fucking_ kidding me?!"

"Watch your mouth!" John barked, causing his eldest to startle out of his sleep. Dean pushed himself up hurriedly, gripping at the comforter of the bed as he glanced around desperately. "Sammy?" He called nervously, at the sound of his father's harsh tone.

"Hey, hey." Sam sat back down, putting an arm around Dean, guiding his brother closer to himself. "I'm here, I'm right here."

"Sammy, I can't see." Dean murmured, pressing his face to his brother's arm, drawing in a shaky breath. "I can't see anything. Where's dad? Is he mad at me, Sammy?"

"Dad's here." John answered, keeping his voice gentle. "Dean, you're doing good, alright? You just keep calm and we'll figure this out. In the meantime, however, we have your disobedience to discuss."

Dean sat up straighter at the sound of his father's voice, drawing in a shaky breath at the words. "Yessir." He answered without a second thought, shifting where he sat on the bed, never releasing Sam's arm, holding on as though his life depended on it.

"Dean, you know better than to disobey a direct order. Or you should, by now. You've been punished for this more than enough times. We don't even need to talk about this anymore, alright? You're a big boy, Dean. Twenty-four. Old enough to know better. Get up, let's get this over with."

Dean started to stand, holding a hand forward, trying to feel anything that may be in his way. He stared blindly in the direction his father was, tilting his chin up just a bit, doing his best to appear as much like a brave soldier as he could manage. Just as John reached forward to take Dean by the wrist, Sam practically jumped up off the bed.

"Don't you dare!" He snarled. "Dad, you're not punishing him for this, dammit! No!"

"I'm sorry, since when have you been the parent, Sam? This isn't your call, it's mine. Either get out of the room or shut up while we get this done with. Those are your only options."

"Sammy?" Dean glanced over his shoulder, towards where he heard his brother's voice.

Sam searched his brother's face, falling silent. He looked quietly at the pleading look there, Dean silently begging him not to go anywhere. He knew his brother would never say it, but he was scared. He needed Sam to be there for him for this; especially afterwards. He needed the comfort of his brother that he always got after his 'discipline' sessions with Dad. He needed Sam to rub his back when Dad went back out to get drunk to forget what he had done to his son. He needed Sam to love on him, to tell him that he was good, that Sam was proud of him. If Dad made him leave, he couldn't do any of that.

"Come on, Dean." John ordered, giving Dean's arm a tug, guiding him to turn. "Let's go over the bed, okay? Put your hands down."

Dean searched desperately until his hands found the blankets of the bed, gripping gently at them.

"Hang on." John murmured, starting to pry one of Dean's hands loose. "Let's get your shirt off, you know better."

Dean stood up straighter, shying away as his father attempted to help him with his shirt, towards the spot he knew his brother was. He lifted both arms, waiting patiently as Sam reached forward to shakily assist him in taking off his shirt, helping him to slip it over his head. "There we go, big brother." He whispered, gripping the shirt desperately in his hands.

"Back over the bed." John ordered, his voice a bit less gentle this time. "C'mon, Dean."

Dean found the blankets with his hands once again, gripping tightly, drawing in a deep breath as he braced his body.

Sam watched his brother's eyes screw shut at the sound of their father letting his belt loose of the loops, slipping it out to fold it over. He watched the way Dean flinched violently when John placed the belt on his back, the way he pressed his lips together in anticipation.

The yell that came after the first blow wasn't from Dean, but rather from Sam. He brought a hand up to his mouth, unable to help the cry of pain that came when he saw his brother being punished.

"Sam!" John scolded. "Keep your mouth shut, unless you wanna be next. Don't act like you're three, you're a grown man for god's sake!"

Dean had broken position, his eyes wide at the sound of his brother's cry. His brotherly instincts had kicked in, and- like always- he'd thought to protect Sammy before anything else. As soon as he realized his mistake, however, he was back in position without so much as a word from John, though he already knew he would be hit some more for jumping up like that.

At the unexpected rapidness of the next five blows, Dean's mouth was open in a silent scream, his weight being shifted from foot to foot as he moved, desperate for this to be over. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "Dad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I disobeyed. I'm sorry. Sammy, he can whip me instead; _please_."

He did something then that he never did; he broke position a second time to search for his brother with his hands, gripping desperately once he found him, all but clinging to him as Sam immediately began comforting Dean, starting to rub his brother's back the way he knew soothed him the most, shushing him.

"Dean!" John barked. "Dean, you get back over the bed, or so help me god-"

"Dad, _go_!" Sam turned his brother so that he was in between the two of them, shielding Dean from their father. "God dammit, _go_! Go out and get drunk already, I'll finish it up. I'll make sure he doesn't do it again. I'll-" Sam swallowed, forcing out the words that he knew would appease his father, would get him to leave them alone. "I'll whip his back raw, Dad. The way you do when we've done something real bad. I'll whip him 'till he cries, okay? He'll learn."

Dean pressed his chin against his brother's shoulder at the words, closing his eyes again, tucking closer to Sam. He knew his brother didn't mean it, he didn't mean those words. Sammy wouldn't do that to him, he was too gentle. He loved him too much, he wouldn't..

John, all too eager to get out of there in the first place, agreed, handing over the belt before turning to go find his keys, hurrying out the door without another word to the either of them.

"Dean.." Sam started, as soon as their father was gone. "Oh, Dean..."

Dean glanced up towards the sound of his brother's voice, never loosening his grip on Sam. "You aren't really gonna whip me like that, right? Not 'till I cry, Sammy. I don't wanna hurt that bad. I swear I'll listen next time. I'll listen to Dad, you don't gotta do that."

Sam pressed his lips together tightly, taking his brother by the arm, starting to pull him closer. "Dean, we're going. We're leaving. Somewhere far away from dad. Really far away. And I'm gonna find some way to fix your eyes, and- and we can be happy, okay? We can figure out how to be happy."

Dean stood up a bit straighter, his eyes widening. "We're leaving? Leaving dad?"

"We're leaving Dad." Sam echoed, wrapping both arms around his brother, allowing Dean to cling to him as much as he needed. In the end he hooked one arm under one of Dean's legs, resolving to carry his brother, who was gripping desperately at this point.

"Everything's gonna be okay." Sam murmured, as he carried his brother towards the door.

**Okay, so this one I'm actually thinking I'm gonna continue, idk. What do you guys think? **


	5. Chapter 5

**Alright so I.. /finally/ found the time and motivation to continue the last chapter. Yea… sorry about that. And so we're clear, this story is not wincest and it won't go that way either, just in case anyone was wondering. Sammy and Dean have their own motel room now, and they're a few states over, so they're safe. Or.. as safe as a Winchester can be?**

Dean lay quietly in bed when he woke up; couldn't hear Sam at all, so he just rolled over and waited, waited for Sam to finish in the bathroom, or return from getting breakfast, or just to finish whatever he was doing. After waiting a few minutes, however, he couldn't help but grow a bit anxious. "Sammy?" He finally croaked out, his voice rough from his sleepiness.

"Dean, I'm in here." Sam called from the other room, already heading that way as soon as he heard Dean. "I'm coming." He stopped at the bed, putting a hand on Dean's arm as not to startle him before he started to help his brother up.

Dean accepted his brother's help gratefully, starting to stand as soon as he was sitting up. "Sammy? I'm real hungry." He glanced around the room blindly, as though he could truly see everything.

"Well it's a good thing I went and got breakfast then, I guess." Sam said, feeling stupid for only now realizing that the note he left on the table explaining where he had gone for Dean would have done nothing, as his brother wouldn't have been able to see it.

"Come on, let's get you to the table.." Sam mumbled, guiding his brother over to the chair to slowly help him to sit. "There, now look." Sam mentally kicked himself for the poor choice of words. "Here." He placed a wrapped sausage biscuit in his brother's outturned hand. "Eat up, okay? I'm gonna take a shower. You've got a drink right here. Straw's already in there. Call for me if you need anything, okay?"

He only got a nod in response as Dean was hungrily chewing his food, a brief smile on his face that left far too quickly for Sam's taste. "Hey, Dean?" He said, though he was already headed for the bathroom, starting to undress. "Yea, Sammy?"

"Everything's gonna be alright, okay? I'm gonna make sure of that."

Dean nodded his acknowledgement to that, still more focused on his food. "I know." He replied, his mouth still full of food.

Sam nodded, going into the bathroom to turn on the water in order to allow it to heat. "How's your food?" He came back out, tossing his shirt onto the bed. He reached down to slip off his belt and unbutton his pants just as a loud thud came from across the room. He looked over to see Dean's drink spilled over the table his chair lying on the floor and his brother frantically trying to wipe the table with the sleeve of his shirt. "Sammy?" his voice was nervous as he heard his brother's footsteps approaching.

"Dean. Hey, hey, what's going on?" Sam put a hand on his brother's arm, only to have Dean jump back, his eyes wide as he glanced around frantically. "I'm sorry. I jumped up, I'm sorry." He held a hand out in front of him, as if trying to keep Sam at a distance.

"I can see that, what happened? Why did you get up so quick, huh?"

Dean wrung his hands nervously, stepping back just a bit more, afraid of tripping if he moved too much. "What did I do to earn a whipping?"

Sam stood for a moment, dumbfounded. He had heard those words before, but they had come from Dad. That's what John almost always asked Dean before he beat him, so that he could understand why John 'had to correct' him. But why was Dean asking that now? Why did he think… just as Sam turned his head back towards the bathroom in thought, it hit him. He spotted his belt lying across the room on the floor and… _Damn. _"Dean, did you hear me take off my belt…"

His brother nodded frantically, wringing his hands once again. "What did I do?" He asked again, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "Sammy, I'm sorry."

"Dean." Sam stepped towards his brother again, attempting to comfort him once again as he reached to touch his arm. "I was only undressing. I'm gonna take a shower, remember? Like I said. I wasn't gonna use the belt for anything. I would never.." Sam had to stop for a moment, feeling sick at the very thought.

Dean stayed where he was, quiet for a few moments before he finally broke the silence between them. "I'm not getting a whipping?"

Sam reached up to rub at his temples, shaking his head before he realized Dean wouldn't see that. "No, no. Not ever again, okay? I'll never hurt you, Dean. You're my brother. And Dad… he's gone. It's just us, now, and that's how its gonna be. That's my rule."

"No belt." Dean tilted his head curiously, though he said it as more of a statement than a question, pretty sure that's what Sam meant. He thought about that for a moment before deciding to make sure he understood completely. "What if I get out of line?"

"Then that's still not my place to beat the spirit out of you, Dean. Nor is it anyone's place, for that matter; It was wrong of Dad to do that to you. You're allowed to have your own opinion and you're allowed to not agree with mine."

Dean was quiet, his arms limply at his sides now. He didn't know what to say to that. After a long moment there was a quiet 'thank you', but that's it.

Sam went to grab a towel to start cleaning up the drink, stopping after a moment to go over to his brother. "You wanna go back to the bed?"

Dean nodded, holding his arm out finally, waiting for Sam to guide him. Once he was safe on the bed again, Sam went to retrieve his own breakfast, bringing it over to Dean. "Here, have mine, okay? I'm not even that hungry." Sure he was lying, but how many times had his brother done the same for him? Surely many more times than he even knew of.

Dean started to smile once again as he took the food, unwrapping it quickly, looking in Sam's general direction happily. "Thanks, Sammy."

"I'm gonna go take my shower, okay? I'll be quick." Sam once again headed for the bathroom, feeling a bit sick to his stomach at how happy his brother seemed to be over the fact that he wasn't going to be beaten anymore. Though he wasn't sure Dean fully believed it just yet. He'd make sure Dean didn't live in constant fear of discipline anymore. He'd make sure of it.

**Okay so please review if you don't mind and say what you think and if you'd like another chapter to this particular storyline or not… alright, thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay so thank you a million times for the reviews and I know I haven't updated in so long! I'm so bad about that, I'm an awful person! I saw a review that said something about Bobby and what a lovely idea! Oh I adore him so so much. **

"That's eight twenty-five for the pizza."

Sam handed the delivery man a ten, telling him to keep the change before going to sit on the bed next to his brother, placing the pizza in between them. "Alright, Dean. Half veggie for me, half supreme for you."

Dean held out his hand as he waited patiently for his brother to hand him a slice, and Sam couldn't help but smile as he noticed Dean's foot tapping eagerly.

"Hang on, big brother." Sam murmured, retrieving a slice for Dean, placing it in his hands. "Be careful, okay? It's pretty hot." Sam reached to grab a slice for himself, keeping an eye on Dean, however, making sure he would be okay to eat it without anymore help.

Dean had pizza sauce all over his face by the time they finished their dinner, but besides missing his mouth once or twice per slice he seemed to be doing fairly well, Sam thought.

Dad still called Sam's phone sometimes, but he always ignored the calls. He had turned Dean's phone off and put it away, and Dean either didn't notice or didn't care; Sam wasn't really sure which.

Sam had called Bobby while Dean was asleep a few days earlier, explaining everything that had happened. Bobby said he would stop by as soon as he could, and he did. He drove two days straight, but he did make it.

Walking up to the motel room Sam had informed Bobby they were staying in, their uncle knocked on the door.

"Bobby." There was such a desperation, and yet such a relief in the tone that Sam used as he said the name, it broke Bobby's heart. He stepped forward to pull Sam into a hug, and Sam clung to him like he hadn't since he was a child.

"Hey, it's alright, boy. It's all alright, now. You've done such a good job taking care of him, huh? I'm prouda you, kid. So damn proud." Bobby rubbed at Sam's back, giving him all the doting he needed for a good few minutes, slipping a hand up to mess with Sam's disheveled hair. "I've gotcha now, nothing to worry about."

When Sam pulled back, Bobby swore he saw him wipe away a few stray tears, but didn't feel the need to mention it—it would probably embarrass Sam more than help him.

"C'mon, lets—Dean'll be so happy you're here." Sam turned back towards the room, attempting to pull himself back together.

"Dean?" Sam glanced around the room, his heart jumping into his throat when he didn't see his brother. "Dean?" He called again, more panicked this time. "Bobby, he was just here."

Bobby was already checking the bathroom. "Dean?"

"Bobby?" Dean's voice came from the small couch, his hands appearing first as he pulled himself up from the floor using the back of the couch. "Bobby, is that you?"

"Dean!" Sam stumbled over himself as he rushed towards his brother. "What the hell were you—" He stopped himself, consciously slowing his pace both verbally and physically when he saw his brother tense, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the couch.

"Hey, Dean." Sam tried again, more gently. "Why were you hiding?"

"Is Bobby here?"

"I'm here, boy." Bobby followed Sam's example and walked towards Dean slowly, realizing how hearing footsteps descending towards him too quickly could easily be taken as a threat. "Hey, how are ya?" He stopped once he got close enough to Dean, placing his hand on the boy's arm. He wanted more than anything to pull Dean into a tight hug, but he didn't want to freak the poor kid out. From what Sam had said, Dean had been through enough. Well—both of those boys had, but Dean especially.

Dean, however, did just that so that Bobby didn't have to. As soon as he felt the older man's hand on his arm, he all but hurled himself towards Bobby, clinging to him so desperately just as Sam had done.

Bobby went to rub at Dean's back as he had done to Sam, but felt him tense in response. He moved his hand to Dean's arm, settling there once he started to rub and felt Dean relax. "Hey, I came to check on ya, kid. I was so worried about my boys."

Dean said nothing, only let his chin rest on Bobby's shoulder as the older hunter comforted him, continuously rubbing at his arm.

"Dean?" Sam tried again, after a moment. "Hey, why were you hiding behind the couch?"

There was silence between the three of them for a long moment before Dean responded.

"I thought it was Dad at the door."

Sam gave Bobby a look that told him they were thinking the same thing. That simple statement broke Sam's heart. Of course Dean was afraid it was Dad. Surely Dean hadn't stopped thinking about what John would do if he found them. Hell, Sam had thought about it plenty himself. But Bobby was here now. That thought in itself made Sam feel safe—he knew Bobby wouldn't let John lay a finger on either of them.

"Bobby?" Sam cleared his throat. "Do you think we could go for some ice cream? The three of us?" He needed a lighter subject, and Dean hadn't left the motel once since they'd gotten there.

"Ice cream it is. I'm buying. C'mon, kiddos."

**Reviews are much adored, much appreciated. Thank you for reading, I will update again!**


	7. Chapter 7

"You boys wanna talk?" Bobby tried, after he and Sam had helped Dean to the table, getting settled with their ice cream.

Sam cleared his throat. He wasn't sure about bringing anything up with Dean still around. He didn't want to upset his brother by making him relive any of the recent horrific events he'd been through. "Bobby.." He started, swirling his ice cream with his spoon. "So, uh, I figure we'd stay at this hotel for a while, then maybe move closer to you? I just thought it might be good, until we can get Dean some help.."

"Nonsense. All three of us'll just head up to my house, okay? No sense in you two staying at some crappy motel for god knows how long. I'll have the couch and you two can share my bed upstairs? Sound good?"

Sam couldn't help but smile, glancing down at his ice cream. He appreciated Bobby more than the man would ever know. Dean, however, took Sam's silence as him being unsure and answered for him. "Yes, sir."

"One rule, though. You don't call me that. Don't make me older than I am, boy. Bobby's my name, I'd appreciate it if you'd use it."

It was Dean's turn to smile. He messily scooped another bite of his ice cream into his mouth, leaning back in his chair. "Yes, Bobby." He corrected himself.

"Atta boy." Bobby laughed quietly to himself at the ice cream all around Dean's mouth. "Kid.." He started to tell him, but before he could finish Sam was leaning over, wiping his brother's mouth with a napkin. "You're a mess." He mumbled affectionately as he finished cleaning Dean up.

Bobby shook his head at the two. These boys deserved so much better than John, and he planned to show them that. He'd give them what John never had. He'd do his best to give them the childhood they'd never had, if they'd let him. He wanted to give them the world. '_God, I adore you two.'_

Dean was pushing his brother's hands away, mumbling something about people being able to see them. Sam just rolled his eyes. "Yea, well I'm sure they'd love to see you with that ice cream all over your face, huh?"

Sam got a gentle shove from Dean at that, his brother already smiling again. "Stop it."

"Boys?" Bobby hated to interrupt the interaction, but he knew what was going on was going to have to be addressed. "Hey, you guys know we're gonna have to get Dean to a doctor?"

"No." Dean answered, not even considering the option. "Bobby, I thought you could just try and fix me up.."

"Boy, I can do stitches and occasionally broken bones, but you and I both know you I can't fix this. We're gonna have to get you to an eye doctor and—"

"And tell them what?" Dean interrupted. "How do we explain to them what happened? How do we tell them that some witch put a spell on me to take away my vision and—"

"Dean." Sam murmured, gently trying to remind him they were in a public place. "Can we talk about this in the car?"

Dean was quiet for a long moment before glancing back in the general direction of his brother. "Sammy?" He brought his hand up to briefly touch his own shoulder—a gesture he had developed to tell his brother he had to use the bathroom without the embarrassment of having to ask him. Sam started to stand up without question, leaning over to take his brother's hands in his own, assisting him in standing up. "I've gotcha."

Bobby watched the two silently, understanding that whatever this matter was, it was a private one. He understood as Sam steered his brother towards the bathroom what was going on, and leaned back in his chair to wait on the two.

Sam figured it easier for Dean to just use one of the stalls and sit down like he had him do at the motel rather than try and figure… _everything_ out whilst standing at a urinal.

Sam only got one disapproving look as he and Dean exited the stall together—something he quickly blew off. Obviously the man understood nothing what was going on. After helping his brother wash his hands and washing his own, Sam took Dean back out to the table where Bobby was waiting.

"You kids ready to go?" Bobby asked, standing up.

"Yessir." Dean answered automatically, bringing a hand out in front of him when he realized Bobby had been asked not to be called that. "Bobby, I mean. Sorry."

Bobby could only shake his head at the kid. He wished more than anything Dean wouldn't fear him. If the kid respected him, that was great. He wanted it to be out of love, though; not fear.

_"Get your ass over here, kid." Bobby had scolded a 20-year-old Dean, beckoning him forward with a finger._

He'd never forget the way Dean had looked at him that day. Dean and 16 year old Sammy playing too rough, and Dean tripping over the coffee table and breaking a shelf full of glass.

_"Was an accident.." Dean had slowly made his way to his uncle, never making eye contact. _

Bobby couldn't forget the way Sam had cowered against the couch, wrapping his arms around himself as some sort of comfort mechanism.

_"You boys know better than to pull crap like that in the house. What do you suggest we do about that, huh?"_

He'd never expected the answer Dean had given him. Bobby was going to suggest The boys mow the lawn, or do the week-old dishes. What the boy had suggested broke his heart then and there.

_"You gonna belt me?" Dean had asked, reaching back to anxiously rub at the back of his neck. "Sammy, go upstairs." He had ordered gently, never casting a glance to his brother. _

_"Bobby, I'll fix the glass." Poor Sammy was practically whimpering, reaching to open a drawer, looking desperately for something to fix the shattered pieces with. "I asked Dean to wrestle, please don't whip him. Bobby, please don't tell Dad."_

_"Sammy, I said get the hell upstairs." Dean had snapped, unbuckling his belt to hold it out for his uncle. "You gonna tan my ass or my back?"_

Bobby brought his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose at the memory, closing his eyes. He swore to himself if he ever saw John Winchester raise a hand against those boys while he was around, he'd shoot the man then and there.

_Bobby tried not to see the leather held out expectantly. He tried not to see the green eyes boring into his own. _

_"You boys, just—" He had cleared his throat. "Go upstairs and turn on some TV. I'll get this cleaned up. Just don't let it happen again, yea?"_

_He'd taken Sammy grocery shopping with him the next morning. They decided to let Dean sleep—Sam told Bobby they'd been up past three watching TV. The kid had gone on and on about how Dad never let them do anything like that, and how great Bobby was. What they'd come home to, however, was a nightmare. Bobby heard the yelling before they'd even gotten through the door. He'd dropped the grocery bags to bust through the front door, horrified at the sight in front of him._

Bobby had lay awake many nights with the sight etched into his mind. He couldn't get rid of the horrifying image of Dean—sweet, obedient Dean—braced against the kitchen table, his chin tucked to his chest. He couldn't unsee the red marks that has been laid across the bare skin of the boy's back—couldn't unsee the way Dean had jolted forward at each strike his father laid down.

_Before Bobby could even think to figure out what any of this was about, he'd snatched the leather from John's hand—his only advantage being the element of surprise. He'd swung it in John's direction relentlessly, cursing at the man and landing a few good blows to his shoulder and arm before reaching for his shotgun, aiming it and even cocking the gun. He'd driven John out of his house by swearing he'd shoot if the man didn't leave._

Apparently Dean had told John everything as soon as the man had arrived to pick the boys up. Bobby knew he'd never understand that boy, or why he took John's word as gospel and laid himself down to be beaten whenever he didn't.

Bobby'd never spoken of that night again, not to either of them. He'd called John to make more than a few threats, but never spoke a word of it to Sam or Dean. He'd never talked about that god-awful night he'd had to pull Dean up from the table, fighting the boy to get him to the couch.

He'd never mentioned again how Dean had attempted to get away, tossing his head backwards and swearing at him in a desperate attempt to follow his father out the door.

He never talked about the way he'd found Sam cowering against the kitchen counter in the corner, his tears spilling over silently, the boy's brown eyes wide and terrified.

And he never spoke of the way he'd led Sam into the living room to be with his brother—the silent awe he'd been in when he watched the younger brother go straight over to his sibling- who lay face down on the couch- and start rubbing his back. The manner was so practiced, so automatic—it relieved Bobby and made him feel a little sick at the same time.

_Dean had relaxed against his brother's touch, turning his face the opposite direction as he swiped at his tears, doing his best to make sure nobody saw._

Bobby saw all of it, but he kept the boys' secrets. He'd never tell anyone about that awful night of their lives. No—that was between him and the boys.


End file.
